“How would I know that, huh? He and I don’t talk for hours, just for a couple of minutes about you. ‘Who’s the doctor? What are his credentials? Make sure the doctor does the test and not some technician; they don’t know what to look for.’—A pest; a fuckin’ busybody, like I said—Then he calls back right afterward to have us get a copy of the results and send it out to him. I guess he figures he’s an expert in heart tests too—I mean, who knows? Maybe a heart is like a fuel pump—and the kid does know fuel pumps, I’ll give him that; so maybe he can read the fuckin’ echocardiogram better than anybody else in New Jersey can. You know something, Bennie? I wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, I wouldn’t put anything past that goddamn genius kid.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve seen him in action, Ed. But all this fuss is just a waste of time, you know. All you guys keep pestering me, you and Tom and Carole especially—Hell, once you get Carole on your case, there’s no way to get her off—But remember: Seriously, I do forty minutes on the elliptical every other day. Forty minutes, I’m saying—on level number five. People with heart disease don’t do forty minutes on the elliptical on level number five every other day, do they? Honestly, pal, the only reason I’m keeping the appointment is Carole, who’ll bust my chops forever until I finally get it done.”
“Yeah, well if Carole didn’t pester you about it, the kid would keep pestering me.”
“Right, I know; I realize that. It’s hard to imagine how close the two of us got in so short a period of time. One weekend, for God’s sakes, and I feel like I’ve known him for years—for all his life, in fact. Or maybe all my life—The age difference somehow doesn’t seem to apply.”
“I know. I told you, didn’t I? Didn’t I try to tell you that? That kid is you thirty years ago—you exactly. Remember I knew you thirty years ago, and when I saw that kid, that’s exactly who I saw.”
“Yeah, and not just appearance either, Eddie. When I talk to him, it’s like I’m talking to myself. He knows what I’m going to say, and I know what he’s going to say—It’s the strangest experience I’ve ever had in my life. And … it’s hard to describe, honestly, but since I met him, since he was here last weekend….”
“I know, Bennie boy. I’ve noticed.”
“Have you? You see how much my mood has changed?”
“Not just me, Ben. Everybody talks about it. It’s like you’re happy again, like the old times. Like the ‘80’s when we were back in school, I mean, the time before….”
“Yeah, don’t be afraid, Eddie, you don’t have to be afraid to say it anymore. Being with that kid took me back there, back to my twenties—I don’t know the reason or the psychologic mechanism involved, but it’s like remedial psychotherapy. It’s like—I don’t know—Best way I can explain it is, he’s got his whole life to live—our whole life to live, in a way, his and mine both—without having to live through my tragedy the way I did. And it’s almost as though I can live my life again through him—minus the disaster of losing Lizzie, that is. I know it’s weird, and I honestly have no explanation for the effect he’s having on me, but I don’t need an explanation. What I feel I feel, and it’s good—It’s more than good; it’s wonderful! For the first time in thirty years, all that awful sorrow in my heart is pretty nearly gone. Hey, I can even look at her picture in the drawer here and not be sad anymore. See?”
Ben opened the top right-hand drawer on his desk and stared down in, staring at that picture—THE picture—He stared at it for half a minute or so, then looked up at Eddie, and instead of soggy eyes and drooping lips, there was a gleam in those bright blue eyes and a wistful sort of smile across his face.
“See, pal? Can’t you tell? I’m just about cured.”
“So it worked out well then, Bennie. I was worried, you know? Until you met the boy I couldn’t be sure.”
“It worked out better than well, pal. Only thing now is, I can’t wait to see him again. I can’t wait until Friday—You’re not stopping in Asbury this time, are you—so you can get here earlier? Is his sister coming along again?”
“No, just him. She’s seen enough of the ocean, I guess. Too bad he doesn’t live a little closer, though. Six hours flight time on the Gulfstream makes things a little slow. Hey, you know I offered him more money to take off from work and stick around a little longer, but he wouldn’t bite.”
“Yeah, I know. I tried that too. The kid’s not as motivated by money as most folks are—which is a virtue of sorts, I suppose. But anyway, whatever time I have with him is therapeutic—Here, see?” Ben looked down into the drawer again, but this time there was a hint of sadness in the smile he wore when he looked up again, and muttered: “But she was a gorgeous thing, wasn’t she, Eddie? Wasn’t she an amazingly gorgeous thing?”
“Uh, sure, Benny. Sure.”
Benny stared up at Eddie. Hard. He stared for a minute unblinking, then suddenly asked:
“What?”
“Huh? I didn’t say anything, did I?”
“I know you didn’t say anything, Eddie. It’s that look on your face I’m asking about. I know your looks well enough to ask you what the hell a look like that means?”
Ben was picking his brain again, which was maddening—Maddening to the point of being excruciating, maddening to the point of making you want to get up, get out, and run a hundred miles away. Just like that Tommie kid, just like Ben himself, when he’d picked the brains of Eddie and Charlotte and practically everybody he knew a thousand times and more these past forty-something years that the two of them had been best-of-friends. Ben and Tommie, Tommie and Ben, one and the same: Try to think a thought and keep it from them? Forget it! Ah, but this thought: This wasn’t something Ben should see right now. Not now, maybe not ever. Only time would tell; he’d have to wait and see. But just at present:
“W-what look on my face, uh, B-Bennie? C-come on! What the hell are you t-talking about?”
“What am I talking about? I’m talking about the fact that my question got you flustered, that’s what I’m talking about Hey, come on, Ed, there’s something you’re not telling me; no point denying it. You know what, pal? It’s lucky as hell you stuck to craps in your gambling days. If you were a poker player, you would have lost your goddamn shirt. You’re too damn easy to read, Eddie; you’re an open book with the main parts highlighted in fluorescent magic marker. And another thing, Ed, a good thing: You’ve never lied to me—ever. I don’t think you’re capable of it. It’s easy to read people who aren’t habitual liars. As for the people who are, I avoid them like the plague.”
“No, I haven’t ever lied to you, Bennie. You’re right about that.”
“But you haven’t always told me the whole truth either, have you?”
“Only if the whole truth wouldn’t have been to your benefit. That would have been the only time.”
“Like now, eh?”
“Why do you say ‘like now’?”
“You should see your face when you ask me that. Let me get you a mirror.”
“Come on, Bennie! Whaddya want from me, huh? Whaddya want me to tell you?”
“I want you to tell me what you’re holding back. And if you don’t start talking pretty quick, I’m going to go ahead and guess. Truthfully, Ed old pal, it isn’t all that hard to guess once I get my antennas tuned up.”
“So guess. Go ahead and guess. I can’t stop you from guessing, can I?”
Ben stared into his eyes intently, those bright blue eyes of Ben’s boring right straight through into his brain. Eddie met them for a while—ten seconds or so—then he had to turn away. Oh boy! He was in a fix, alright. What was he hiding? Ben asked? Look at the other side of the picture in that drawer, and you’ll see it plain as day. What he was hiding was the flip side of the photograph, and the gorgeous Russian girl the FaceMate kids had matched her with. What he was hiding was a seismic shock to some guy who had an iffy heart, if he had an iffy heart. Yep. Ben had handled the boy all right, he’d been fine with that, he’d been great with it, actually—But
the girl! Nope, no way. Ben might never be ready to see a picture of that fucking girl!
And so for the first time in their life-long relationship, Eddie told his closest friend a lie. A flat-out lie. He told Ben:
“You know, Ben, you can stare at me forever, and you’re not gonna get me to tell you something when there’s nothing at all to tell. If I seem funny to you, maybe it’s because I’m worried about your health—Did you ever consider that? Maybe that kid’s got me spooked as much as Carole and Cindy are spooked. And everybody else who knows you the way we do; don’t you think that they’re spooked too? If you can’t see that inside my head, maybe you’re losing your touch. Yeah, that’s it: you’re getting old and losing your psychic touch. You don’t read minds the way you used to, Benny. Get your fucking antenna fixed!
Maybe that worked, maybe it didn’t, but Ben lowered his eyes and, with them, he lowered the intensity of his inquiry of gaze. Eddie was off the hook for now, though for how long the hook would be put in abeyance, he didn’t have a clue.
34
Well, the way Eddie had it figured was this: Now that he knew Ben’s heart had checked out OK, now that practically all of Northern Jersey was breathing easier about Ben’s future health, the only thing still up in the air was the state of Benny’s … head.
And this kid—this brilliant goddamn kid—he’d done wonders for Benny’s head so far, hadn’t he? The more time Ben had spent with him, the better Benny’s mood and attitude had grown. Bottom line, therefore, was: that young Mr. Mulroy was psychologic medicine for Ben. And if young Mr. Mulroy was psychologic medicine for Ben, then the more time Ben got to spend getting Tommy Mulroy’s medicine, the better off mentally Ben would be.
Ergo, if a Friday afternoon pick-up time was good, then a Friday morning pick-up time would be better yet. And if the pick-up time could be tweaked a little earlier than what they’d originally planned—say as early as 7:00 or 8:00, well, that would be a whole lot better than the later morning pick-up time would be.
And so he worked things out, with Tommy Mulroy’s help, to that desired end. Tommy had a forty-hour work week in the Dworkin GMC garage, right? Well, wouldn’t it be possible, let’s say, to put in a few longer days from Monday through Thursday and take his scheduled Fridays off entirely? That way, Brendan could fly the Gulfstream out sometime Thursday afternoon, grab a steak, get himself a top-notch suite at the Camelback or maybe the Phoenician—whichever was the nicer of the two—load Tommy on the plane Friday morning early—really early, hopefully, (really early Arizona time, that is)— get him back to Red Bank by possibly as early in the afternoon as 3:00 p.m. Eastern Daylight (or maybe even 2:00)—which would give Ben and Tommy plenty of one-on-one together for the greater part of the day. Then they’d have all Saturday too, of quality time in one another’s company, and a couple of hours on Sunday, as well, to do their mutually beneficial thing, before the young man had to fly back home.
So Eddie coordinated the scheduling accordingly; and while he was coordinating it, the thought occurred to him that: Hey, this might be the perfect time for him to get an evening’s break from Red Bank too. He and Brendon—how ‘bout this?—the two of them could fly to Vegas, get a little gaming action in, shoot some craps, play some blackjack, have a drink or two with one or more of the beauties who hang around the bar, and….
But no, wouldn’t you know it? Charlotte started grilling him the very minute he got off the phone: Where are you going? Why? How? Who with? “You know, Eddie, if you’re planning to fly out west a whole day early to pick up the boy, don’t you think it would be nice of you to visit your daughter and son-in-law in California for a change? Why do you need to go to Vegas? Don’t you care about them? Your own flesh and blood? What kind of father are you turning into, anyway, huh?”
Well, hell, he knew he was a lousy father; he’d never made the least pretense of being otherwise. And an evening spent with Linda and Kenny, looking at baby pictures and dealing with the babies themselves, the ga-ga and the goo-goo and them spitting up and drooling on your nice blue pin-striped suit; then listening to Kenny boast about his penny ante job selling real estate to idiots—Christ! Not his idea of a fantastic getaway exactly. So LA was out—that was a given—Meaning Vegas was out as well, lest Charlotte check the charges on the VISA card. She was a sneaky little shit that way.
But he’d made the arrangements with Brendan already, and with Tommy as well, and with the airports and limos concerned—all already booked. So what the hell: Skip LA, axe Vegas, they’d fly to Phoenix, he and Brendon would, leaving Thursday early afternoon, which would get them on the ground in Arizona by maybe two or three local time. They’d get a couple of suites at the Camelback Inn or the Phoenician—whichever had the higher tab, of course—Hell, might as well live it up; and anyway, it was on the Company dime—They’d check out the bar, check out the lovelies at the bar, grab a couple of sirloins, medium rare, get some sleep—not too much, hopefully, if there were some tolerable chicks to pal around with—load Tommy in the plane at maybe 6:00 or so Friday morning, be back in Jersey at, oh let’s say 2:00 or 3:00, then half an hour for Luther in the limo to bring Tommy to Ben—Yep, that would work out fine. Phoenix wasn’t Vegas, no contest there, but it would be a welcome break from the old routine. And five hours on the flight back talking with a brilliant kid—That would be a treat all on its own. He’d run up this minute and pack his bag.
When Luther picked him up Thursday roundabout noon, Brendon was sitting in the back of the limo, checking out the flight plan and going over charts. Eddie sat up front with Luther, who, while he was driving, waxed effusive:
“Hey, you know somethin’, Mr. Parker, sir? That kid last week: You goin’ out to pick him up ag’in?”
“Sure am, Luther. Same exact kid.”
“He’s a sharp one, I’m a-tellin’ you. You know them things he said was wrong with my little Caddy here? Which was drivin’ down the mileage, like I tolt ‘em plenty at the garage that they didn’t pay no attention to—You know what I’m sayin’?”
“Sure I know what you’re sayin’, Luther. It was drivin’ down the mileage on the Caddy. I understand.”
“Well that kid, he said to check out the motor mounts, you tolt me, right?—which was genuinely bad; I had ‘em fixed last week. But that there mileage problem—‘member he said somep’m ‘bout the catalytic convertor was goin’ bad? Damn garage missed it for goin’ on six months ‘spite-a my complainin’. Had ‘em change it out this time, and you know what? mileage up now from sixteen to prackly twenny-fo’. That young fella, he a genius, you know that? That young man a reg’lar genius, no doubt!”
Couldn’t fault Luther on that conclusion. And, once he climbed out of the limo and climbed onto the plane, couldn’t fault Brendon on the flight either, which was smooth, comfortable and timely, touching down at the very minute it was scheduled to land. Another guy in another limo picked them up and took them to the Phoenician; but it being late August summer and something like a hundred and ten degrees out in the sun, wouldn’t you know it, but the goddamn place was dead. No one visits Arizona in the summer, and in August not even the people who live there dare to venture out. So there was nobody at the pool, nobody in the restaurants, and, worst of all, no thirsty little females hanging around the bar batting their mascara-lidded eyes. Brendan didn’t mind the solitude that much; his wife was young and slender and had a pretty decent face. But as for Eddie: This was hardly the kind of tons-of-fun excursion he’d had in mind. At 5:00 p.m., in utter desperation, he called the only person he knew in Phoenix for advice.
“You busy, kid?”
“Not too. Just finished with a door latch that was non-functioning, and I’ve still got to get the guy’s injectors cleaned out. Why, Eddie? Hey, I’m all set to go early in the morning. Anything else you need me to do?”
“Not you, Tom, not you. I was just wondering: What the hell is there to do in this shit-hole-of-a place?”
“Well what do you feel like doing? Ther
e’s a nice western art museum here, and if you like malls….”
“No, kid, no malls, no museums—Jesus! Isn’t there anything else you people got?”
“There’s a casino. You’re at the Phoenician, right?”
“Right.”
“Well the casino isn’t that far from where you’re staying then.”
“One of those Indian places, is it?”
“I think so. I haven’t been there myself, but it’s probably Indian-run.”
“No, those are Hicksville. Nothing like the real thing. And the odds are stinko too; that’s what I’ve heard. Besides, probably even the casinos would be deserted in the summers here—nobody to talk to, you know? Hell, I don’t know; maybe I’ll just buy a paperback and sit around the room. It’s too damn hot to lay out at the pool.”
“OK, well, I hate to leave you hanging, Eddie, especially after all the terrific stuff you’ve done for me—Oh, and Rachel too, by the way—the Boardwalk and all. But hey, how about this: You’ve got that limo, right? The same guy who came for me and Rachel last week?”
“Yeah, same guy. His name is Tony, I think. I think he midnights for the mob; he looks it. Cindy’s the one who came up with him; I don’t know how exactly—You remember Cindy, don’t you? Ben’s secretary? You couldn’t hardly miss her unless you were blind.”
“Yeah, I know who you mean, I think. The big lady, right?”
“Right, kid. Anyway, we got the same limo, yeah, and Tony too. What do you need it for?”
“No, I don’t need it. But what I was thinking: Why don’t you pick me up from the garage—It’s our late night, but I can be done by 7:00 if I hurry up—and then you can hang out at my place for a while. My mom would love to meet you, and she makes these fabulous pies—Do you like pies?”
“Pies? Yeah, I guess. I got nothing against them. But your place, eh? So what do you have happening at your place? And what does your mom look like? Did you get your handsome looks from her?”
FaceMate Page 28
